


Menagerie

by Torpor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Dimitri finds some post nut clarity, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Porn with Feelings, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25911712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torpor/pseuds/Torpor
Summary: A collection of discarded scenes from my main project, the Embers of War series. The first one is a sparring match.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be perfectly honest, I wrote this in hopes that if I bribe him, brave!Dima will bless me with a +10 merge in feh. 
> 
> The character I used for this comes from a project I'm currently working on. This is a teaser of sorts I guess. I'd say go read it, but i'm restarting the first part, so do so at your discretion. 
> 
> As always, don't be shy, let me know how I'm doing. 
> 
> **Edit**
> 
> I've decided to use this as a catch all for my test scenes for my main project. Tags will be updated accordingly and rating is subject to change, as I'm not certain they'll all be smutty. Please feel free to give feedback, it would be very helpful to me.
> 
> **Edit**   
> I'll be updating this more often for a little while since my laptop crapped out on me. Until I get a new one, I can't update the main fic, sorry for the inconvenience.

They fell together in a tangle of limbs, and Dimitri’s hand flew up to cradle the back of her head. She landed on her back with a grunt in a cloud of dust, swearing quietly as he caught himself on his free hand, just enough to avoid crushing her under his weight. She lay panting under him, her pale cheeks flushed and sweaty, her inky fringe plastered to her forehead. Her chest heaved, her breasts brushing his chest with their every breath.

“Mitya?” she asked, her dark brows pulling down in concern.

His head drooped, and he took a deep, gulping breath as her scent—wisteria and the rainy, electric smell of magic—hit him. She felt so warm against him. She’d always been cool to the touch, but there under him, her eyes glinting in the lamplight like shards of fine blown glass, she was so very warm.

_ Kiss her… _

He relaxed against her, shuddering at the feeling of her thighs cradling his hips. She gasped quietly, her fingers digging into his shoulders before her arm draped comfortably across the back of his neck, her thighs squeezing his waist, her skin hot as a brand against his.

“ _ Ronnie _ …” he mumbled, his forehead pressing against hers. Her breath swept across his lips and smelled of lemon and that bergamot tea she was so fond of. He hadn’t liked the smell of it until then, and he hated that he couldn’t taste it. 

_ Go ahead. Kiss her. _

He jerked back as his uncle’s voice echoed in his mind. He had desired her as he did. He’d wanted her Crest, her youth, her family’s secrets. He couldn’t do this to her… did he not bring that vile man back to her mind? She’d never spoken of it, but he knew he’d coerced her in some manner at least. She blinked up at him, dazed and flushed anew. She looked beautiful… but he couldn’t let himself have such a joy.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me, I’m… I’m so clumsy. Here, let me help you up!” He tugged her to her feet and stepped away respectfully. 

“Are you well? What was all that about?” she asked. 

“Er… nothing. I think I’m just tired. I’m… going to go get cleaned up and try to take a nap. Excuse me!” 

He rushed away, leaving her there in her confusion. Shame and need pumped through him, leaving him feeling hot and flustered for reasons that had nothing to do with their match. He sped down the cobbled path, past Sylvain and Felix, ignoring every friendly call or surprised question. He needed to hide for a bit. He could  _ feel _ a beast of quite a different nature stirring just under his skin. His groin ached and his stomach twisted as he thought once more of Veronica and her pretty, petal pink lips. It was so easy to imagine them wrapped around his--

**_Stop it._ **

His heart fell. He had no right to think these sorts of things. He’d been horrible to her. He’d been at once possessive and cold, and now he thought he’d earned the right to want her so basely? He truly was more of a monster than first thought. Felix was right, there was no going back. His humanity was forfeit… but… even knowing that did little to help his current situation. He could feel himself—hard and hurting—straining against his trousers. He needed to get rid of the feeling if he wanted to think clearly again. 

He took the stairs two at a time, rushing towards his room with a prayer that no one would stop him. It would be impossible to miss just how affected he was. 

His door snapped shut behind him—harder than he meant to—and he sagged against it with a sigh. He bit down on his lip and closed his eye, trying to banish all of his lewd thoughts, but he couldn’t. They remained lodged in his mind like stubborn splinters. He couldn’t get the feeling of her heated skin and honey sweet breath out of his mind. 

He whimpered as his cock twitched at the memory of her quick panting, and his skin prickled at the memory of her thighs squeezing his waist. If he searched his thoughts, the scent of her came easily. Sweet, heady, and floral, his head spun in its wake. 

He kicked off his boots, shucked his shirt over his head, and stumbled towards his bed, allowing himself to fall upon his back. He groaned and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. It felt good on the left, but rubbing the right hurt so he stopped before he could do more damage to it. Her soft, ample breasts came to mind immediately as he was no longer occupied. A soft whine whistled through his clenched teeth.

He wanted to feel their weight in his hands, to feel her soft skin against his lips, to see lovebites blooming across her smooth, oleander skin as he sucked and nipped to mark her as  _ his _ .

He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed this to end or else he would do something foolish. He reached down and tugged the laces loose, a grateful sigh breezing past his lips. He pushed the fabric away and his cock sprang free, already leaking and flushed. 

What would she think of it? Would it put her off? Would she take it in her hands enthusiastically? He wrapped his hand around himself and squeezed at the base, moaning quietly at the sensation. Her hand wouldn’t be big enough to do so completely, but he knew he would prefer her touch. Her hand, though calloused and strong, was slender and long fingered—the once dainty hand of a Lady.

He considered her lips again, stroking himself from root to tip, catching the bead of precum that had gathered at the tip with his thumb, smearing it downward. She would look lovely on her knees before him, her lips red and swollen from his eager kisses as she hollowed her cheeks with a hard suck. His hips twitched, but he held himself back. There was no need to rush, she certainly wouldn’t. 

He slowed his pace as he imagined a different ending to their bout. He tested the waters, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. Her arms tightened around his neck, her spine curving upwards as she turned her head to capture his mouth in a deep, needy kiss. He moaned softly, the image of them entangled in such a public place bringing him a shameful sort of excitement. His hands would wander, finding her hips in a desperate rush. 

_ “Not here,”  _ she would whisper, always the sensible one. 

He would take her hand and haul her to her feet, and they would rush away to his bedroom together; past their friends and their knowing smiles and amused giggles. Her back would meet the door, her hips rocking against his as they kissed again and again, and then he would move them to the bed, keeping her close as he herded her backwards. She would cling to him, laughing as her back hit the mattress, his hand once again cradling the back of her head. 

_ “I love you,” he murmured. It was the truth. It felt as though he had loved her his entire life--before then, even--though in truth, it had only been a few years; but years of yearning could turn the minutes to hours.  _

_ “I love you too,” she whispered in return.  _

_ Their clothes fell away in short order, tossed aside without care in favor of exploring one another. Her fingers trailed over his scars with affection rather than revulsion, her lips finding his scarred eyelid. He did the same for her. She gasped quietly as he moved downward, his mouth hot and wet on her throat, and then her breasts. His mouth closed around the rosy peaks, his tongue swirling and teeth scraping. He longed to taste her, but he liked to imagine that she tasted as sweet as she smelled, with a hint of salty sweat. Her sighs and shuddering gasps increased as he made his way lower. _

_ “May I?” he asked. She smiled and tucked his hair behind his ear, her touch gentle and loving.  _

_ “Of course.” _

_ He parted her folds with careful fingers, dragging his tongue across her tight, hot entrance before finding the prize just a little higher up. She smelled as divine as she ever did, and the headiness of sex made him lightheaded. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair as he lapped and sucked at her. Her thighs trembled as he teased her with the tip of his tongue, but he soon gave her what she needed. He drew her clit into his mouth and sucked gently, his finger sliding inside her. She was soaked and slick, her voice soft and breathy as he chased her pleasure.  _

_ He added a second finger, stretching her to prepare her for his cock. She keened softly, her fingers tightening in his hair. Her back arched, her voice pitching higher as she drew closer to the edge. She came with a moan, his name tumbling from her lips like a prayer. She looked thoroughly debauched, not unlike she had in the Knight’s Hall, but now only because of him.  _

_ “Mitya…” she reached for him and he lowered himself over her, kissing her deeply. If she minded the taste of herself in his mouth, she said nothing. Her thighs once again cradled his hips, but the heat was so much more intense now that they were skin to skin. “Make love to me,” she murmured, squeezing him tightly. He could feel her soaking folds against the length of his cock, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. He could never deny such an earnest request from his Lady. _

Reality returned for a moment as he heard Sylvain’s door open and close. He bit down on the fleshy space between his thumb and forefinger to silence any unseemly noises and picked up the pace, his mind finding his fantasy quickly. 

_ He eased himself inside her, helped along by just how soaked she was. It was a point of genuine pride that he could do this to her. Once settled, he waited. He would never be a brute, he would give her time to adjust to his girth. Soon she was rolling her hips against his and scraping her nails along his back. The bed jolted at the first thrust of his hips and her moan and the sound of flesh striking flesh shattered the silence. He set a lazy pace, taking his time with her. He wanted this to last.  _

_ Soon she was winding up tight once more, her walls already beginning to flutter around him. She whined and begged him to fuck her. Harder. Faster. So he obliged. Their hips met ruthlessly, his fingers pressing into her hip bones hard enough to leave bruises behind, but she uttered no complaint. _

_ He was close. Everything in him was molten hot and tight. He whispered a warning, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pressing him deep inside. _

_ “Stay,” she pleaded, arching as she came undone under him. Once again, he couldn’t deny her. He met his end with a shudder and a low moan of her name. _

He spilled himself over his knuckles and stomach, his chest heaving as he rode the wave of pleasure. His mind went blissfully silent, clear for the first time since all this had begun. He had overreacted again. If she hadn’t wanted his attention, she would have said so. Veronica was not a woman easily forced into things. He smiled ruefully as he imagined the exasperated interrogation he would no doubt get later and struggled to his feet on unsteady legs. There was no reason to lounge around covered in his own seed. The quicker he got cleaned up and faced her, the better. 

A knock on the door sent him scrambling to his washroom with a hissed string of curses falling from his mouth as he scrubbed away the evidence of his lusty imaginings. 

“Just a minute!” he called, stepping into a clean pair of trousers, and shrugged on a clean shirt. He opened the door and his heart plummeted. Veronica stood there in all her splendor, freshly bathed and dressed in a finely tailored emerald green jacket. He knew her trousers stretched perfectly across her plump, perky rear. Just the thought of it and what he could do with her fine silk ascot was enough to get him feeling hot all over again. 

“May I come in?” she asked. He swallowed and nodded, stepping aside for her. Goddess, he hoped he didn’t smell too much like sex. 

“Are you well, Ronnie?” he asked. 

“Perfectly, I just thought that maybe you’d like to…” she came to stand toe to toe with him, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind his ear, “finish what you started.” Her words went straight to his cock, and he shuddered in response. “Unless you’ve tired yourself out, of course.” She gave him a cheeky grin, and he felt color rise in his cheeks.

“I would… like that very much.” He would show her just how much it would take to tire him out. They would see who tapped out first.

  
  
  



	2. Tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri gets a little TLC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've decided to just post all my test scenes in one batch, please feel free to critique them in the comments. It would help me greatly to get concrit on them since I don't currently have a beta reader. I hope you enjoy them.

He jolted as he felt her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs pressing into the stiff muscles. He hummed and relaxed back in his seat, his eye falling closed. She kneaded firmly, digging her thumbs mercilessly into the knots in his neck. He went boneless against his chair as he felt the tension in his muscles finally go slack, and found himself suddenly feeling lightheaded. She leaned down over him and pressed a kiss to his temple, nuzzling into his hair with a sigh. He covered her hand with his, pressing it over his heart. 

“I hadn’t heard you come in, Beloved. I apologize,” he murmured, bringing her prosthetic hand to his mouth. She still seemed hesitant to let him see it, as though she were embarrassed by it. 

“You’re working too hard, Mitya. You’ll be doing us no favors if you’re too tired to lead. Come, step away for the evening. All of this will be here in the morning,” she said.

“Yes… and more will be added to the pile. I’ve let it build for too long… I must--”

“You must  _ rest _ . You’re tired, Darling. We will take care of it in the morning,  _ together _ . As we will do all things.” 

His heart ached at the tenderness in her voice. If anyone had told him that the girl he’d met in the forest all those years ago would be there with him, reassuring him and caring for him, he’d have thought them mad. He smiled softly as she tugged at his arm and he rose to his feet, feeling the ache in his legs and hips now that he was standing. Perhaps she was right, he’d been sitting far too long. 

“Would you like for me to draw you a bath?” she asked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He shivered at the light touch, but she didn’t linger. 

“I… yes. I would like that. Are you… going to stay tonight?” he asked. He dearly hoped she would. He’d gotten used to it in the few weeks he’d allowed himself to have her nearby. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get to sleep properly without her. 

“Do you want me to?” She was going to make him speak it aloud. Before the night was through, she would wring everything he’d tried so desperately to hide out of him. He couldn’t say whether the thought frightened or enticed him. 

“I would like nothing more… it is as I have said, Ronnie… I long to wake up beside you every morning. For as many mornings as I have left on this earth.” 

He cupped her cheek and drew an unsteady breath as she leaned into him, sighing as though his touch soothed a deep ache within her. Her lips were soft and slightly cool against his own, but it was easy to feel how alive she was there in his arms. She was no ghost. He groaned as their tongues met, his knees wobbling slightly at the jolt of electricity that coursed through him, pooling like molten gold in his belly. He held her tightly, his hands finding her waist on instinct. He never allowed himself to touch her in such a way. He tried his best to keep a respectful distance when they settled down for the night, though she always inevitably woke in his arms. Whether it was his fault or not, he couldn’t say. 

She drew back from him, licking her lips as though she’d just tasted something decadent. He was jealous. He wanted so badly to know how  _ she  _ tasted, but he liked to imagine she was as sweet as she smelled. She grinned at him and maneuvered him backwards until he felt his knees hit the bed. He could resist if he wanted, but he was so  _ tired _ of fighting. He’d been fighting for most of his life. He just wanted something to be  _ good _ , even if it was only for one night. He allowed himself to fall when she nudged him and arched when she climbed over him, desperation clawing its way up from some far flung corner of his mind. A soft, keening sound snuck its way out of him as her mouth trailed up his neck. 

He knew he was breathing loudly, he could feel himself squirming and trembling under her touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. She kissed him again, and he clung to her as though he were drowning. He needed to feel something besides that horrible emptiness he had grown so accustomed to, and when she was with him, he did. He felt warm, and more importantly, he felt real. He rolled them, his hand cushioning her head as she relaxed under him, her pale cheeks flushed to a soft rose. It was her turn to curve her body up into his, her legs curling around his waist, her arms tight around his neck. Her kiss was desperate now--hungry--it felt incredible to be wanted. It wasn’t his first time, but it was the only one that mattered to him. 

He wrenched his shirt over his head when she began to tug at it, her hands too clumsy in her need to divest him of it neatly. Her touch against his bare skin was pure exultation. He growled quietly as her nails raked across his shoulders, and nipped at the delicate skin at the base of her throat, soothing the bruise already blooming on her oleander skin with his tongue, and the sound she made was somewhere between pleasure and pain. He pulled away as a doubt struck him, rocking back onto his knees to gaze down at her. Did she want this? Was he pushing her too far too quickly? It hadn’t been that long since they’d been reunited, and they’d both changed so much… she deserved more time to decide if she even  _ wanted _ him. She looked up at him with dazed green eyes, but she adjusted quickly to the change in his mood.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

“I… I just wanted to make sure that… Ronnie, please tell me that you want this. That I haven’t simply pushed my own desire onto you and ignored yours like a… a…”  _ like a boar _ , “I’m so sorry.” He was ruining this. She would grow tired of his constant fumbling and find someone more confident, more capable,  _ better _ . 

“Hey, hey… there’s no need for that, Darling.” She came up onto her knees and took his face gently between her palms. She nudged his nose with hers, testing him, but she didn’t need to worry. He was still as greedy as he’d ever been. “Here, lay back Mitya,” she patted the pillows, smiling encouragingly at him. He heaved a sigh and did as she asked, stretching himself out onto his back, his head cushioned comfortably by the goosefeather pillows. She curled against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her fingertips drawing nonsense patterns across his chest. He closed his eye and listened to the sound of her breathing beside him, and allowed himself to relax. Veronica was not a woman to be forced into anything. If she didn’t want to be there with him, she simply wouldn’t be. He was inventing problems yet again.

“Sorry…” he murmured. 

“For?” Her hand stilled over his sternum and he covered her hand with his, enjoying the weight of it a moment before he answered. 

“For… ruining the mood, I suppose,” he said. 

“What were you worried about, if I may ask?” 

He took a deep breath and chewed his lip a moment. She deserved to know the truth, and she’d asked him not to hide things from her. It was hard. He wanted to simply pretend nothing had been wrong, that he was fine, but he wasn’t and she wasn’t stupid. 

“I… when I bit you and you made that sound I suppose I was afraid I’d hurt you. And then I began to worry that you didn’t want me in the way I wanted you, and… well… I suppose it was a little foolish of me.”

“Maybe, but I’ll gladly take your unnecessary concern if it means I can have  _ you _ . I love you. You don’t need to worry.” She pressed a kiss against his shoulder and resumed her tracing. He squirmed under her touch, but tried to fight down the surge of desire that struck him as her finger came a bit too close to his nipple. That time had passed. He’d ruined it. There was no need to get excited. “I wonder… have I failed to make my own desires clear to you?” she asked. 

“What do you mean?” His voice was breathy and quiet, but the feeling of  _ wanting _ was beginning to take hold of him again. 

“Exactly what I said. I wonder if maybe I haven’t made my feelings for you obvious enough. If you can so easily doubt them, then surely I’ve failed to make you feel secure in them.”

“No! No, you’ve not failed at anything, Ronnie. The fault lies in me alone, I’m--”

“Shhh. Hush, silly boy.” She placed her finger against his lips to silence him, a bemused smile on her lips. “You’re always so quick to accept fault, even when it isn’t yours. Relax, Darling. I think I would like to rectify this horrible mistake, before it has a chance to hurt you further.” 

He took a shuddering breath as she shifted, propping herself onto her elbow to look down at him. Her gaze was soft, but appraising, as though watching his face for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. He reached out to trace her cheekbone, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear, fingers trembling. Her lips pressed gently against his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the tail end of the scar marring his right eye. Her fingers tugged carefully at the cord keeping his eyepatch in place and pulled it away from his face, pressing her lips against the tattered eyelid. There was no hesitation or revulsion in the way she touched him, and he couldn’t help the way he whimpered. 

The thought that anyone could touch a beast like him and not feel filthy afterwards was almost too much to comprehend. She kissed him as easily as she breathed. She said she loved him without any sign that she was lying. He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t, that she should abandon him to his fate and simply let the past keep him, but he was selfish. He soaked in every praise, every kiss, every gentle touch. He drew a trembling sigh as her lips moved from his scarred eye to his cheek, and then found their way to his ear. 

“Will you let me take care of you, my love?” she whispered, her fingers ghosting down his stomach, stopping just shy of the waist of his trousers. There could be no mistaking her meaning, even if he  _ tried _ . He groaned, the sound rumbling low in his chest as a fresh shock of arousal shot through him. His back arched as her finger traced lightly above his waistband, his toes curling as he imagined them dipping just a little lower. “Mitya, nothing happens until you say something.” 

“ _ Please _ …” his voice was desperate in a way he’d never heard it. He’d never wanted anything so badly in his life, not even food, water, or rest. He’d sought to soothe his aching, empty heart with others, but it had always been her he had wanted. She giggled and kissed him before he could babble more pleas, her mouth hot and insistent on his as she climbed over him, her strong thighs gripping his waist. His hands found her rear and squeezed, but she batted them away with a click of her tongue. 

“Now, now. This is about you, Darling. You can play with me later, once my point has been made.”

She caught his hands and pressed them into the mattress above his head, the fingernails of her left hand digging slightly into his palms. He knew as well as she did that she couldn’t actually stop him from moving if he wanted, but he knew a game when he saw one. He could intuit the rules without asking. He grumbled and tucked his hands beneath the pillows. She leaned down, peppering his face with kisses as her fingers ran through his hair. He could feel the ache of his cock straining against the laces of his trousers and he shifted in hopes of finding a more comfortable position. Nothing helped. If anything, the movement pressed his cock more tightly against his body. 

Her lips found the tender flesh just beneath his jaw and he moaned as she drew it into her mouth and sucked. He knew there would be a mark, and that the others would see it, but he didn’t  _ care _ . Let them gawk. Let them laugh and tease, let them  _ know _ . His hips twitched as her tongue traced the prominent vein in his neck, his mind racing as her hands finally left his hair and trailed reverently down his arms, over his shoulders, before they finally came to rest on his chest. One hand was her cool, calloused hand, the other was cool, fine leather. The hand of flesh and bone traced lightly over his nipple while the other--the one of mythril--moved downward steadily; all the while, she pressed kisses randomly across his neck and chest. 

“Ronnie…  _ please _ .” Whether he meant ‘ _ please hurry _ ’ or ‘ _ please slow down,’  _ even he was entirely sure. He  _ needed _ to experience relief, but he  _ wanted _ her to make it last. She took his nipple between her teeth and he hissed at the sting, arching with a shudder as she soothed him with her tongue. He could feel the warm, slick feeling of precum soaking through his underwear as his manhood remained trapped within the confines of his clothing. She seemed to be in no hurry to free him. 

“Patience my love. You’ll be rewarded for it, I promise,” she crooned. He whined high in his throat as she pressed her thigh between his legs, the pressure on his aching cock nearly too much for him. His hands fisted into the sheets in an effort to keep them still, but nothing could stop his panting. Her nails raked down his side, leaving red welts in their wake. He squeezed his eyes closed and gasped at the delightful sensation of pain. It was mild, but present. He longed to feel it across his shoulders and down his back as he rocked hard against her, her voice pitching high and breathy against his ear.

“ _ Oh gods _ .” He nearly choked on his voice, and his hungry imaginings left him gasping pitifully on the mattress. She grinned lasciviously against his belly, her tongue tracing a vein that forked upwards from his hip before she took the laces of his trousers in her teeth and yanked, tightening them briefly from the tension. “ _ Oh  _ **_gods_ ** _! _ ” She would leave him suspended in his desperation like an insect in amber if he didn’t beg, he was sure. “ _ Ronnie, pl-- _ ” his plea died on his tongue as her hand closed roughly around the hard bulge of his manhood, pulling a hoarse moan from him. She pulled her hand away as quickly as it had found him, leaving him with only the ghost of her touch.

He was rolling his hips in earnest now, desperate for contact of any sort, only able to gasp and whine in the aftermath of that sudden shock of pleasure. His heart hammered harshly against his ribs, his mind racing with thoughts of simply wrestling her down and giving her a taste of her own medicine, but he fought them down. She promised him a reward for good behavior. He wanted it. He settled with a whimper, his hips shifting in another unsuccessful bid to alleviate the pressure on his cock. 

“You’ve been very good, Mitya. Would you like me to loosen these?” she asked, once again tugging at the laces. His voice was a raw rasp, harsh to his ears.

“ _ Please _ .” 

He sighed in relief as she pulled the cord loose, finally doing away with one source of discomfort. He could feel himself trembling as the cool air of the room found him. It wasn’t enough to calm him, only to draw his attention to how  _ hot _ he felt. He squirmed as she resumed kissing and tasting at his skin. Her attention felt good, but it wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Do you want your reward?” she whispered. He wasn't positive he'd spoken, though he felt his voice reverberate in his throat. He moved his arms for the first time since they’d begun, groaning at the stiffness of them as he propped himself up on his elbows. He wanted to watch her. She smiled at him as she ran her hands up his thighs, biting playfully at the thickest part of them. Sitting up as he was now, he felt the sweat that had gathered in the hollow of his throat finally run down his chest and shivered as it cooled. Finally, she slipped her index finger beneath the waistband of his underwear and pulled, gasping quietly as his cock sprang free. He grinned in spite of himself at the way she flushed and gaped at it. “Well… I can’t say I quite expected that.”

“Is it a good surprise, or…?” he wasn’t sure he could take being rejected now. It would devastate him at any time, but for something so immutable? He’d rather be struck dead.

“It’s a lovely surprise.” She took him in her hand and stroked him from root to tip, circling the crown with her thumb. His head fell back, his eyes screwing shut. It felt so good to be touched. 

“ _ Goddess _ , please don’t stop,” he begged, meeting her eyes once more. She was watching him intently, like a cat might watch prey. She smoothed her hand back down, squeezing him at the base, dragging a desperate wail out of him. He understood what she was doing. She was seeking his preferences, but it was misery. He needed relief. Her right hand reached down and cupped his sore, swollen balls and he whimpered at the feeling. He choked and nearly collapsed as she licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock, humming in satisfaction. 

“You’ll warn me when you get close, won’t you?” she asked. 

“Of course…” he couldn’t say he blamed her for not wanting to dirty her mouth with his seed. That she would put him anywhere near her mouth was astounding, and he would be certain to show her just how grateful he was later.

All thoughts fled as he felt her tongue swipe across the head, lapping at him as he wept clear, salty fluid. She closed her mouth around him and sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks before pulling back with a soft ‘pop,’ her hand continuing to stroke him. He was only vaguely aware of the sounds pouring out of him as she went back, bobbing her head enthusiastically, choking lightly as she held him as deeply as she could manage before backing off once more. He could feel everything within him tightening, hot and pulsing. He was close. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She hummed around him and he tensed.

“Ronnie… Ronnie wait, I’m--” he whimpered and arched as she pulled away, abandoning him right at the crest of his pleasure. 

“Hold on, don’t let go just yet,” she murmured. “There’s an even sweeter reward if you can make it through this, Darling.”

He bit down on his knuckles and took deep, calming breaths, thinking about the sorts of things that would cool any libido. The pleasure faded enough that he could breathe normally again, though he still felt feverish and wild. There was only one thing he could think of that would be sweeter than the instant gratification of release. He pulled her towards him, kissing her deeply. She gasped and clung to him as he settled her down onto the mattress, her head cradled by the hoard of pillows. He groped for his boots and slung them across the room, followed by his socks. She watched in amusement as he fought his way out of his trousers and underwear, leaving himself bare before her. 

He climbed over her, nudging her legs apart with his knees as he did so. She was still fully clothed, but provided she gave him permission, he had every intention of solving that. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica's turn for a little loving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to decide through whose eyes we see their first time together. After writing both I'm still not sure. Keep in mind this story diverts from canon heavily.

She grimaced as she put her prosthetic aside, rubbing at the back of her neck and right shoulder as the day’s fatigue fully settled in. Her arm was a technological marvel, for certain; made of mythril, it was lightweight and resistant to the corrosion of magic; it was intricate and beautiful, but ultimately it was still heavier than her own flesh and bone arm would have been. It would be a lie to say that it didn’t take a toll on her. She moved to the mirror and returned her hairbrush to the vanity, studying herself as she did. It was impossible to deny that her right shoulder drooped more than it had, no matter how she tried to straighten her posture. She tore her eyes away from the disgusting scarring in her reflection and moved to the tub. 

That was the one thing she had missed about her quarters in the Royal Palace: she’d had her own washroom. Only her parents had a private bath when she was a girl, but the short time she’d spent here had spoiled her. A knock on the door had her scrambling for her robe, swearing under her breath as she struggled to shrug into it, and swearing more loudly when she realized she couldn’t tie it closed without her prosthetic. A second round of knocks had her simply wrapping it tightly around herself and holding it closed with her hand. Her heart dropped to her feet as she opened the door and found Dimitri on the other side of it, his eye bloodshot and dim with exhaustion. 

“Mitya?” She stepped aside and allowed him in, closing the door behind him. He was still in his armor, still dusty and sweaty from the hard won battle to liberate his home. 

“Sorry, I hadn’t realized I’d interrupted you. Do you need me to come back later?” he asked. His voice was tense, laden with emotions she couldn’t even name. He’d cried on the balcony as his people cheered and wept in the street below; overcome with joy at the return of their King. It had been then that she realized that no matter how much she may want to, she could never stand beside him in the way she wanted. The people and nobility would never accept her as Queen--she was the daughter of traitors, a witch--and she was unlikely to ever bear children. She had nothing she could offer the people, and nothing he couldn’t get elsewhere from a woman more beautiful. 

“No… no, it’s fine. Is something amiss?” she asked. He turned to look at her, his gaze softening as he looked at her. In spite of everything she knew, she loved him. She loved how he looked at her. 

“I… think I’m simply overwhelmed. I wanted to be with you… I know that I’m safe when you’re near,” he said. She watched as he turned the tap off and tugged off his gauntlets and gloves before looking back at her, his eye lingering on her hand where she clutched her robe. 

“Well… I’ll certainly not judge you for feeling however it is you feel right now, Mitya. It’s been a taxing day… a taxing past five years.” Her breath caught in her throat as he came closer, his warm hand cupping her cheek with such carefulness that she could almost forget just what she’d seen those hands do to their enemies.

“May I kiss you?” he asked. 

She knew that she should tell him no. She knew she should send him away and force him to find happiness with someone else--someone acceptable--but she was selfish. She  _ wanted _ to be the one he wanted. When he’d told her he loved her, that he wanted to wake beside her for the rest of his life, she had been so deliriously happy. She would carry that kiss with her for the rest of her life, no matter how things turned out for them. So, instead of doing what she should, she nodded. 

Her arm draped over his shoulders, her fingers tangling in the soft fur of his mantle; or perhaps it was his hair, she couldn’t be certain. His lips were hot and slightly chapped against her own; he tasted of sweat and something sweet and heady, his hands were like a brand against her back and pressed her tightly against the chilly, unyielding steel of his cuirass. She gasped as she felt his tongue dart out to taste at her bottom lip and yielded to him. He was an overwhelming force, as consistent and powerful as the sea, and she clung to him as one drowning might hold to wreckage. When he pulled back, they were both panting. He pressed his forehead against hers and swayed them slightly side to side, still holding her close. 

“Sorry… that was a little more…  _ intense _ than I had intended. I fear I’m a glutton for your affection,” he said. He didn’t look particularly contrite, truth be told. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for… I… it isn’t as though I made any effort to stop you.”

He hummed quietly and trailed his thumb over her cheek, and it was then that she saw the hunger in his eye. She pulled away then, tugging her robe closed awkwardly. She’d let things go on long enough. If she didn’t say something to get through to him now, then things would only be harder later, when he’d settled into the idea. 

“Mitya… I… I think we should talk.” 

“That sounds rather ominous… are you alright, Beloved?” he asked. She huffed and eased herself down on the bench before her vanity, watching him in the mirror as he eased himself down into the only other chair in the room. It was easier to watch him this way, rather than seeing the hurt she caused him up close. 

“I… Mitya, I don’t think we can be together. Not in the way we’d like, at least.”

It felt as though the air had been drawn out of the room. It was so silent, and so still that she could very nearly hear the motes of dust landing on the wood. Dimitri slumped forward on his knees, his head hanging. His hair obscured his face, but she knew without seeing it that he was hurt. 

“I see… I… can scarcely blame you for not wanting to tie yourself to me, Ronnie. I am… hardly worthy of it.” 

“That’s not it. I  _ love _ you. There is no one in this world I would rather share my life with, Mitya… but you are going to be  _ King _ . Even if we find proof that my family had nothing to do with Duscur, that lie has lived for too long. The people will never accept me, and… I don’t know that I can give you heirs. What was done to me as a child… it has made me a rather hostile environment. I’m sorry… I should have spoken up sooner.” 

Her voice shook and her hand clenched in her robe while she waited for him to respond. What would he do? Would he get angry? Would he leave without saying anything? Would he cry? Part of her hoped he would lose his temper and break her neck for her selfishness, but instead he met her eyes in the mirror. His gaze was thoughtful as he straightened in the chair. He wiped away the few tears he’d shed and stood.

“Is that all that stops you? It is not my own monstrousness or the blood on my hands? It is purely a political concern?” he asked. She turned in her seat as he came to stand behind her, his fingers running through her hair gently before he eased himself down onto his knees. 

“I am hardly capable of judging you for something like that, Mitya… I’m hardly stainless myself, if you’ll remember. I simply see no way to be with you in the way I want. Even if we got past the question of whether or not the people and nobility would consider me acceptable, there is still the problem of my poisoned womb. I could never tolerate being your mistress. I couldn’t bear to share you with another,” she said. To her surprise, Dimitri smiled and laid his head in her lap. She stroked his hair on instinct and shivered at the rumble of contentment in his chest. 

“Then you’ll be pleased to know that I have no intention of  _ being _ King.”

“What? When on earth did you decide that?! What are we going to do instead? We cannot simply leave the people to fend for themselves!”

“Peace, Beloved. I have a plan… I will  _ have _ to be King for a time, until I have accomplished all that I must, but I will abdicate once everything is in place and stable. And then… I want to walk away, hand in hand with you.” He took her hand in his and pressed kisses to her fingertips, holding her gaze deliberately as he pushed himself up, his hands on either side of her hips. She was caged there between the vanity and him, but rather than feeling trapped, she found herself feeling safe. Safer than she ever had. 

“Are you certain? You could have almost anyone you want… there are more beautiful women than I that would gladly throw themselves at you. There are more beautiful women with us  _ now _ that would be thrilled to love you.” 

“There may be other women who are beautiful, but certainly not  _ more  _ beautiful. Not to me. I love you, so very much. Please don’t try to push me away… I am exactly where I belong.” He pressed a kiss to her jaw and nuzzled against her neck, sighing happily as she stroked his hair once again. She could never deny him if he was so set on it. Not when she too was right where she belonged. As long as she was with him, she was home. 

His lips found her throat and she tilted her head back to allow him to do whatever he wanted. She was tired of fighting. She just wanted something good for them for once. She sighed as his hand cradled the back of her head and he drew the pale flesh of her neck into his mouth. She would have a mark there, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. His fingers trailed over her collarbone and pushed her robe off of her shoulder, his mouth following after his touch in a slow, deliberate manner. She squirmed as her stomach clenched and her skin prickled from the heat of his breath. Her robe fell and pooled around her hips and he looked at her intensely. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but she was far beyond virginal shyness. She would let him look if he wanted. 

“ _ Gods _ but you’re magnificent. Your skin is like moonlight.” He pressed closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, his hands parting her knees, “Will you have me?” There could be no mistaking his meaning. She felt too hot and empty in that moment, she felt as though she would break unless he held her together. She nodded. 

She gasped and melted back against the vanity behind her as his mouth found her breast, his tongue flickering over her nipple before he drew it into his mouth. His hand cupped the other, his thumb mimicking the movement of his tongue. She was trembling under his tender touch, and burning inside. She didn’t need to touch herself to know that she was soaking her robe, the aching between her thighs was nigh unbearable. She felt him smile against her sternum as she whimpered and arched. She could feel the cool metal of his armor against her knees and so desperately wanted him out of it. She needed to feel  _ him _ , the man.

“ _ Mitya… _ get out of all that. If I am to be naked, should you not level the field?” she asked. Her breathlessness made it into more of a whine. With other lovers, she had been domineering; but with him, she couldn’t find it in herself to assert herself. Not right now, at least. She wanted to be claimed. She wanted to be devoured. He laughed breathlessly and rocked back on his heels, his pupil blown wide and cheeks rosy. He was the most lovely thing she’d ever seen. No sunrise or natural wonder could match him.

“I suppose you’re right… I am positively  _ aching _ .” He stood and unfastened his cloak and mantle, allowing them to fall to the floor at his feet. She watched as he began to work his way out of the blackened steel that kept them apart. Each piece fell to the floor--forgotten--as he seemed to be concerned only with returning to what he was doing; his eye never left her as he worked. She longed to help him, but would only slow the process without her prosthetic arm. 

Finally, he was divested of his armor and stood before her only in his trousers and thin linen shirt. She took her bottom lip between her teeth as she admired him. She could see the hard outline of his cock in his trousers and she shivered; her guilty imaginings truly did him no justice. He grinned down at her--clearly pleased with himself--before he shucked his shirt over his head. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him and she shifted her hips as her womanhood ached. With each layer he removed, her need grew. She rose unsteadily to her feet and wrapped her arm around his neck, relishing the feeling of his hot skin and solid muscle against her naked flesh. The dark blond hair that covered his chest and trailed down his stomach rasped pleasantly against her as he kissed her insistently. 

He pulled away to grope for his boots, which he flung away unceremoniously, followed by his socks. He herded her backwards until they reached the bed, which was when he scooped her up in his arms and deposited her gently on the mattress, her head resting perfectly on the pillows. He stayed where he was for a moment, kneeling on the bed between her knees. She found herself feeling insecure and covered her mangled shoulder with her hand, turning her face away from him. How could she feel anything but hideous before such beauty?

“Do not hide from me, my Beloved. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He cupped her cheek and turned her to look at him. He reached behind his head and tugged the cord that kept his eyepatch in place, revealing the tattered remains of his eye. The scar was still dark purple and stood out harshly against his alabaster skin, and his eyelid was deformed somewhat, but it was the eye itself that stood out most to her. It was milky and unseeing, drooping slightly from disuse. Regardless, she felt no revulsion. He was as beautiful to her as he’d ever been. She looked at the other scars littering his arms and the few on his chest and shoulders. She recognized the one in the fleshy part of his shoulder as the place he’d been struck with an arrow so long ago when they first met. If he were to remove his pants, she knew she’d find a similar one in the meaty part of his right thigh. “Do my scars repulse you?” he asked. 

“Not at all. Nothing of you could ever repulse me.”

“Then you understand how I feel. There is nothing to worry about, my love. You are sublimely beautiful.” 

He stretched himself out over her, kissing her forehead. His weight was comforting--grounding--and his lips were gentle as they made their way downward, his fingers following reverently in their wake. Her heart hammered against her ribs as his breath swept over her breasts once more, but he didn’t linger. She laughed lightly when he nuzzled against her belly, lacing their fingers when he offered. Her breath came in quiet, quick pants as he hovered at her hip bone, his free hand coaxing her legs apart, over his shoulders. 

“Will you allow me to please you, my love?” he asked. She shuddered as his tongue darted out to lick the sweat from her skin. 

“Only if you’ll let me return the favor.” She felt his laugh more than heard it. 

“Give me a yes or no, darling. I’ll not be a brute.” 

She reached down and brushed his hair away from his face, craning her neck to admire him. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing in contentment. His arms were wrapped securely around her thighs, his hot breath sweeping over her belly in steady puffs. He waited patiently, just as he said he would. There was nothing to be feared with him. 

“Yes.” 

He smiled at her then, the expression so warm and loving that it stole her breath. She took a deep breath as he bit down on the inside of her thigh and drew the flesh into his mouth. He seemed to be in no hurry to move things along, but she didn’t mind. It was nice to have a slow lover for once. She sighed and squirmed as he peppered kisses and bites along her thighs and across her belly, his rough hands kneading her thighs, squeezing her ass, holding her waist. Finally, she felt him reach down and part her folds with careful fingers, his thumb rubbing tight circles against the swollen bud at her core. 

She arched and let out a shuddering gasp as his tongue replaced his fingers. He licked and sucked at her, enthusiastic in his pursuit of her pleasure. Her fingers tangled into his hair and he groaned against her when she tugged, and she shuddered when she felt it vibrate through her. He eased off, teasing her with the tip of his tongue and slow circles. He gripped her hips tightly when she rolled them against his mouth. 

“Now, now. Be patient, my love.” 

She cried out as she felt one of his thick, callused fingers sink into her. He paused for a moment, but she was too far gone to consider why. She whimpered and rolled her hips, begging him to keep going. After a moment, his mouth returned and her thighs clenched on impulse as his lips closed around her clit. His finger pumped in and out of her slowly, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more than just a single finger.

“ _ Mitya… please _ , I need yo--” her words died on her tongue as she felt another finger slip inside, the stretch pulling a loud, decidedly unladylike moan from her. Her world narrowed as his fingers moved inside her, the sound of flesh slapping flesh and her own cries were all that she could hear, his hands and mouth all that mattered. Her back bowed, her hips bucked, and her eyes screwed shut as she felt herself breaking apart under him. Just as she crested the final wave, he added a third finger and redoubled his efforts. His name tumbled from her lips as one might cry a prayer, and stars collided behind her eyelids as she shattered. He coaxed her through it with gentle strokes of his tongue and the slow curling of his fingers within her. 

He pressed a kiss against her clit and lapped at her folds with relish when the pulsing stopped, leaving her shaking and gasping there on the bed. He rocked back on his heels and sucked his fingers clean, his eye dark and focused hungrily on her. He looked thoroughly debauched. His hair was rumbled and slightly sweaty, his beautiful lips red and swollen, his pale cheeks bright pink and streaked with her cum. She pushed herself up as he tugged the laces of his trousers loose, his relieved groan going straight to her core.

He shimmied his hips, wiggling his way out of the tight elkskins, leaving him only in his thin linen underwear. It left little to the imagination, as his hefty cock continued to strain against the fabric. She slapped his hands away and reached out to stroke him, pulling a hoarse moan from him. His head fell back as she freed him from the final layer of cloth. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down at him, taking him in hand. He was thick and hot, heavy in her grasp. She shivered as she realized she couldn’t fully close her hand around him.

“ _ Gods _ , Mitya.” He chuckled and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers.

“I hope it doesn’t put you off. I’ve been made aware that it’s intimidating,” he said. He looked sheepish, perhaps even a little anxious. 

“And if I told you it did?” It didn’t, of course. She found herself desperate to worship it, but she wanted to know exactly how he felt. 

“I… I would respect your feelings. I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to… does it, Beloved? Are you put off by it?” he asked. She shook her head and leaned in, kissing him deeply. She could taste herself on his lips, but that didn’t matter to her. What mattered in that moment was the man currently pulling her tightly against his chest. Her fingers splayed against his chest before she allowed it to slide down his body and wrap around his manhood. It twitched in her grasp and he shuddered, burying his face against the side of her neck as she stroked him. “ _ Ronnie _ please… I can’t… I’m  _ aching _ .” His soft pleas stoked the flames of her desire until they roared within her. She ached for him, just as he ached for her.

“And what would soothe that ache, Mitya? What do you need, my darling?” she asked, pressing her lips to his temple. Dimitri’s hips jerked and he groaned quietly when she squeezed him at the base. 

“I’d like to make love to you.” His hand reached down and squeezed her ass, holding her close as he nipped at her shoulder. His cock was trapped between their bodies, pressing insistently against her stomach. “I… I promise I won’t hurt you.” Sheepish again. Always so concerned for everyone else.

“I know you won’t. Here,” she pushed him down against the pillows, marvelling at the strong, virile man currently smiling and giddy in her bed. He pulled her down, shifting onto his side as he did so. Her breath caught as he hitched her leg over his hip and cradled her against him.

“I’ve found that it’s harder for me to get leverage this way. Are you comfortable?” he asked. She wrapped her arm around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled of sweat, cedar, and the natural headiness of  _ man _ . There truly was nowhere she would rather be.

“Incredibly,” she murmured. 

“Will you have me, my love?” 

“And no one else.”

He pressed a kiss against her temple and took himself in hand, guiding the blunt head of his cock to her entrance and she mewled quietly as it slid through her folds. Her nails bit into his shoulder as he pushed his hips forward, and she took him in. It was slow, but steady. There was no force, no aggression, only his deliberate, determined movements. They sighed in unison when he had gone as far as he was able, the joining soothing the ache they carried inside. She was already trembling, but her body was quick to adjust to the girth of the man she loved. 

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered. 

“Gods no, not even a little. Mitya… please. Make love to me.”

He gave an enthusiastic roll of his hips, grinding himself into her with a vigor only the young could have. She clung to him, each thrust drawing a gasp or a moan from her. His girth ensured that the most sensitive parts of her got no reprieve. She could already feel herself winding up tight, it wouldn’t be long before she came again. His fingers were pressing into the flesh of her hip firmly enough that she knew she would have bruises, but she didn’t care. She  _ wanted _ them. She wanted to wake sore in the morning and see the marks he left behind. She wanted proof that this was real. 

“I love you,” she sighed, her tongue trailing across the shell of his ear. His hips jerked in response, snapping against hers hard enough to make her see stars. Her nails raked down his back, her voice pitching into a desperate wail. “ _ Gods! Harder. _ ” 

He growled against the side of her neck, his teeth closing down on the delicate skin just beneath her jaw. His hips snapped hard against hers, hers rocking forward to meet his every stroke. She tugged at his shoulder, rolling onto her back as he followed. He sank deeper into her, and they keened together. Her legs locked around his narrow waist and he wrapped his hands around hers, oaths and her name pouring his mouth in equal measure as he continued to pound into her. Her back arched, her hand groping blindly for something to hold onto. Their fingers laced as his free hand shot down between them to rub against her clit. 

“I… Ronnie I’m close. Gods please come with me,” his voice was hoarse and tight, his breaths coming in quick, hard pants. Her hand ran down his arm, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the power just barely contained there. All that strength, and yet he still managed to be so profoundly gentle. She pulled him down, kissing him deeply as his thrusts turned desperate and erratic. She could feel the turbulent heave of magic just beneath his skin, and when she breathed him in, it was like standing on the cliffs over the sea. He tasted of the sea, he smelled of it, he  _ felt _ like the sea, surging in and out like the tide. They crashed down together as the wave broke. She could feel him pulsing within her, and she clung to him as her body squeezed and convulsed around him. 

For a few long moments, they simply held each other and shook. They breathed in unison, quickly at first, but soon it evened out and he flopped bonelessly onto his back beside her. She curled against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her arm draped over his ribs. 

“I love you, too. I… just realized I hadn’t said aloud earlier. I’m sorry.” She laughed and pressed a kiss to his collarbone, squeezing him as tightly as she could with only one arm. 

“I don’t mind. I didn’t need to hear it to know you feel the same, Mitya. I’m not so insecure that I must hear it all the time.”

“Perhaps not, but I  _ want _ you to hear it. You didn’t hear it enough as a girl. I can’t change that… but I can do better by the woman.”

“I have no complaints, my darling.” He brushed her hair away from her face, his gaze fond and fingers gentle. She had never loved anyone as much as she did him. There was no room in her heart for another, not in the way he occupied the space, at least. He was the only one who could ever complete her. She stretched and yawned, tugging the blanket over them. She was thoroughly fucked and too tired to do anything but lay there and be held. 

“Do you not want to get cleaned up?” he asked. She huffed and cracked an eye open. 

“I’ll deal with the sticky thighs in a bit. The water’s cold now anyway.” Dimitri hummed and relaxed beside her, draping his arm around her back. 

“Then rest. I’ll draw us a fresh one in a bit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri muses about life after retaking Fhirdiad and Veronica is there to give him comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd clean out my drafts a little more since my laptop crapped out on me. 
> 
> If you're enjoying seeing my discarded scraps, don't be afraid to let me know. Let me know how I'm doing.

It was strange to be back after so many years. Fhirdiad had once been as familiar as his own hands, but now he barely knew either the city or himself. He kept gazing out the window over the walls, expecting to see the monsters of his past marching down the city streets, and yet… despite everything that had transpired only hours ago, it was calm. He wasn’t foolish enough to say it was  _ safe _ , but it was quiet. There was no more battle to be had, not tonight. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment, closing his eye against the light of the setting sun. If he stood there--perfectly still--and listened, he could almost pretend it was all a dream. He could almost hear his father’s laugh and his step mother’s quiet sighs. He could almost smell Rodrigue’s cologne; like pine and tobacco. He let the breath out slowly, his lungs burning. They were gone, and he was here; and thinking about them would summon them in the worst possible way.

_ Enough. _

He looked around the room, a bitter smile spreading over his lips. His room hadn’t changed much since he’d last been in it. It had been cleaned up before he’d been allowed in, but he liked to imagine it had been used for storage or perhaps it had stood empty, collecting dust and cobwebs without him there to make it live. Regardless, he couldn’t get too attached to the soft bed and lit fireplace. They would have to move on soon, and he would have to say goodbye--perhaps forever.

A knock on the door stopped him from doffing his armor, but he smiled rather than scowled. He knew who it was, and he had hoped that she would come. Veronica smiled sadly at him as the door creaked open and he stepped aside for her wordlessly, admiring the way she occupied his space. Nothing ever felt quite complete until she was there with him; he was unresolved without her. 

“Are you well, Ronnie?” He asked, turning from the door in time to watch her shrug out of her greatcoat. 

“I am. Are you unhurt?” She draped her coat across the back of the wingback chair, her pale eyes scrutinizing him shrewdly. 

“Yes. There’s nothing to worry about. I am well.”

The atmosphere was tense now that they were alone here. There were memories in this room. Simpler times, if not necessarily happier. They had talked, schemed and yearned. He yearned now, too; though it wasn’t quite the same as it had been back then. Though he’d never exactly been innocent, he was inexperienced, untested. He had been a child. Now he wasn’t. He took a step towards her, watching her expression carefully. If she wanted him to stop, he would. He would keep his distance and make no complaints if she rejected him; he had certainly earned it, but she said nothing. She was watching him, her gaze thoughtful. He stopped within arm’s reach, just close enough to smell her perfume; she hadn’t changed it in all these years--wisteria and blackberries--it made him ache with nostalgia. He was home.

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but soon they were embracing, faces buried in hair and skin. They swayed slightly side to side, her arms tight around his neck; his around her waist. This wasn’t the time for words, they didn’t need them. She pulled back slightly, pressing a kiss against his brow, his temple, the tail end of the scar that peeked out from under his eyepatch; she stroked his hair and squeezed him tightly against her, paying no mind to the bite of steel. He pressed his forehead against hers, nudging her nose with his. Five years was a long, long time away from home.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers as gently as he could muster. He longed to pull her in close and kiss her with everything he had, but he knew he couldn’t be trusted with such a thing. He would get greedy and crave more than one kiss. He would want two, four, seven. He would want to lay her down upon the bed and make her forget every lover that had ever come before him, and he had no right to want such a thing. If she never wanted him, then he would simply have to be satisfied with his fantasies. 

_ What if I hurt her? _

He pulled back at the thought, his heart aching. He had never been a particularly gentle man, and did she not deserve more than he could give? Had she not suffered enough? Was he truly so selfish that he would risk hurting her, just to soothe the ache in his soul?

She surprised him by pulling him closer, her lips brushing over his cheek before finding their way to his ear. His knees nearly buckled as he felt her teeth close around his earlobe, and his hands found her waist on instinct. He felt too hot, too large for his skin, like a beast straining against its tether. His armor suddenly felt too heavy, and he wanted nothing more than to  _ feel _ the soft press of her bosom against his chest. His breathing had turned ragged, and he shuddered when she giggled. She  _ knew _ what she was doing to him. 

“Kiss me.” 

A desperate whine tore its way out of him as her lips brushed against his ear, and he nearly lost himself entirely as her tongue followed, flicking ever so lightly against the shell of his ear. He pulled her back, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She sighed and he breathed it in, drinking in her every exhale. He longed to taste her. He had never wished to taste anything more desperately than he did in that moment as her tongue met his. He imagined that she tasted as sweet as she smelled, and every bit as heady. His lungs screamed for air and his head spun as though he’d had a drink too many, but he savored it. 

She pulled back, panting against his lips. She was flushed so delightfully, her lips red and slightly swollen, her pupils blown wide. He felt somehow both powerful and weak in front of her. He had made her look so thoroughly debauched, and yet he knew he fared little better. He could already feel the slow unravelling of his restraint. To keep himself from saying something foolish, he leaned in once more, pressing careful kisses against her cheek and jaw, before he allowed himself to lavish the column of her neck. Her fingers sank into his hair as he eased her head back, and he drew her flesh into his mouth and nipped playfully at her throat. Her moonlight skin was peppered with red love bites, and he found himself feeling proud of his work rather than ashamed of his lack of control. 

“Ronnie?” He barely recognized his own voice. This wasn’t the first time he’d given himself away, and yet… he’d never sounded so breathless, nor so  _ hungry _ . 

“Mm?” Her voice was a weak sigh, and she clung to him as though she would crumple upon the floor without him. 

“Tell me… will you have me? Do you need me as I do you?”  _ Can you accept me? _

Wordlessly, she pushed his cloak and mantle from his shoulders, and it fell to the floor in a puddle of wool and fur at their feet. She turned her attention to his gauntlets, and then his vambraces. She worked her way up his arm methodically, putting piece after piece aside for cleaning. When she pulled away his gorget, she placed a gentle kiss against his throat, lingering a moment before she returned to her task. His cuirass came off, and then his arming doublet, exposing his chest and back to the cool air, and he shivered in spite of his tolerance to Faerghus’ frigidity. His thin linen shirt afforded little protection, and left little to the imagination. 

When she sank to her knees to remove his sabatons and cuisses, he couldn’t help the way his cheeks and ears flushed. He had thought of her on her knees like that more times than he could count, but he had never thought he would actually see it. Her hands worked steadily, and when his faulds came off and he was free of the blackened steel that had guarded him against the world, he found himself feeling unsure. Her hands rested on his thighs, neither pushing him away, nor pulling him closer; but the look in her eyes was like a siren’s song. She leaned forward and pressed a few fleeting kisses against his belly and her fingers dug into the meat of his legs.

He brushed his fingers across her cheek, tracing the scar marring her jaw with his thumb. She leaned into his touch with a sigh, as though his nearness soothed a deep ache within her; the sound of it sent a shiver through him, leaving gooseflesh behind on his arms and the back of his neck. He watched in stunned silence as she brought his fingers to her lips, her gaze never leaving his as she pressed soft, deliberate kisses to his fingertips before turning his hand over to kiss his palm; and then she did the same to the other hand. His hands; which had dealt so much death and inflicted so much cruelty on the world, were unworthy of such careful devotion, and yet she gave it to him freely. 

Carefully--so as not to startle her--he tugged her to her feet and pulled her flush against his chest, burying his face in her neck. He couldn’t help himself. She smelled so divine, and her tender touch made him feel more cherished than he had any right to. He was a shameful creature. All she would need to do was reach between them and feel him to know the truth. He knew he should be more dignified, more  _ polite _ , but having her so near after so long without her only revealed how very starved he was for her touch. 

"Shall I draw you a bath?" she asked. 

"You don't have to." 

"I know." 

Something about those words sent a thrill through him. That she would deign to care for him, after everything… it was almost too much. It  _ was _ too much. All he could think of was how little he deserved it. And yet… and yet, all he wanted to do was throw himself upon her mercy. 

"Very well then. Please," he croaked. She smiled at him, and he knew that no matter what came to pass, he would be alright tonight. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle of the Eagle and Lion, Dimitri and Veronica get closer than they ever have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is from an earlier draft of the story where Veronica and Dimitri get together during the school phase, but I've opted for a slower burn. I hope you enjoy the scene regardless. Let me know what you think.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking, if he’d been thinking at all; but before he could stop himself, he’d already wrapped his arms around Veronica’s waist and spun her around. She made a strangled sound in her throat, and it was only when he put her back down on her feet and met her gaze that he realized that she’d stifled a laugh. She was so close. He could smell sweat, dirt, and steel, but there was still the faded smell of wisteria lingering in her hair. He watched in awed silence as the look in her eyes--usually so sharp and fierce--softened into something so undeniably tender that it stole his breath. His eyes fell shut as she came up onto her toes, her warm breath sweeping across his mouth only moments before he felt the cautious press of her lips against his. 

“Well, well; getting straight to the victory celebration, are we?” Claude’s voice broke their shared stupor, and Veronica all but shoved him away. In that moment, he’d never been more annoyed with Claude von Riegen. “Oh don’t mind us, lover boy; go ahead. We can wait.” Dimitri went to argue, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. Professor Byleth smiled up at him, their serious expression softened significantly by the amused twinkle in their eyes. 

"Give her a moment. She's probably overwhelmed," they murmured. 

_ Of course she is. _ Veronica could hardly stand to be touched, nevermind kissed. His heart sputtered as he recalled the petal softness of her lips. _ She had kissed him. _ He was already craving it again. She truly didn't know what she'd unleashed by kissing him; but he hoped she would let him show her. With a deep breath and a slight shake of his head, he forced his attention back to the people standing around him.  _ Be professional.  _ There was still much to do before he could follow after her, but Claude's knowing smile set his teeth on edge. He'd remember to hit him a little harder in their next mock battle.

***

It had taken longer than he’d expected to get away from the others, and washing up had taken extra time, but it would be rude to show up to a lady’s tent smelling of sweat. He fidgeted a moment, trying to work up the nerve to announce his presence, but the need in him spurred him into action. He needed to see her. He needed to know that it had been real, and that she had felt something in that moment as well. 

“Veronica?” He smiled as he heard the sound of her shifting, perhaps to stand. 

“Come in.” He obeyed and pushed his way into her tent, his heart fluttering in his chest as he saw her. Her inky hair hung loose, cascading over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves; his fingers itched to feel it. It was rare to see her in any state other than restrained and orderly, and while he knew it was rude, he couldn't help but stare. She was so beautiful. Her cheeks flushed and she averted her eyes, chewing on her bottom lip as the silence stretched between them. "I'm… sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Did she think he'd come to reprimand her? He shook his head and stepped closer, taking a knee in front of her. She looked surprised, which he found endearing. She almost never betrayed her emotions, but he wouldn't complain. It was his hope that one day she'd let him see her every thought. 

"You've nothing to apologize for, besides its brevity; perhaps." He watched as her pale cheeks flushed, feeling more proud of himself than he maybe had any right to. 

"Mitya?" She sounded confused, but hopeful. He smiled and held out his hand, his own cheeks warming as she reached back. He took her right hand in his, running his thumb over the fine leather that kept them apart before pressing a kiss to her knuckles; allowing himself to linger there, simply enjoying the way it felt to be so close to her after being held at a distance for so long. 

"Ronnie… I would very much like to kiss you." He watched as she seemed to become conflicted, worry clouding her pale eyes briefly before she seemed to come to a decision. 

"I… will not stop you."

"That's not a yes." He nuzzled against her wrist, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He would do nothing without her clear permission. Ravenous as he was, he was no animal. His eyes flickered to her mouth when she wet her lips before meeting her gaze again. 

"Mitya… I don't know that I'm worthy of it… surely you'd rather spend your time with prettier girls." 

She averted her gaze, but he didn't miss the hurt in her eyes. He bristled at the notion that anyone had ever planted the idea that she was anything but sublime in her head. He reached out carefully and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking across her velveteen skin. 

"You  _ are  _ pretty; and more importantly, I adore you. There is no one I'd rather spend my time with." 

She flushed furiously, her bottom lip quivering slightly. Tears brimmed her glass green eyes and clung to the thick fringe of her dark lashes. He wiped them away with his thumbs and brushed his nose against hers, testing the waters. She shivered, but looked at him steadily, her eyes growing soft once more. He watched her from under his lashes, waiting. 

"May I kiss you?" He asked, his fingers slipping into the inky morass of her hair. She clutched at his shirt, a tremor shooting through her. 

"Yes," she whispered. 

Carefully, he pressed his lips to hers. She melted into his embrace, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan reverberating in her throat. Her fingers splayed across his chest and she sighed blissfully against his lips. He drank the sound down greedily, already wondering how to make her do it again. They pulled apart, each panting against the other's mouth, pressing short, chaste kisses to whatever skin was available. 

She leaned in once more, pressing a cautious kiss against his cheek before burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her arms wound around his torso and she sighed again. 

"You smell good," she murmured. 

"I should hope so. I put extra effort in, you know?"

She giggled, pressing kisses against his jaw, his chin, the corner of his mouth, before she pressed her forehead against his. They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment before she guided him towards her cot. He eased himself down onto the edge of it and she followed suit. She took his hands in hers, chewing her lip in thought. 

"Are you sure this is what you want? I… I can't help but feel like I'm doing something I shouldn't…" 

He lifted her chin with his knuckles, once again brushing his lips against hers. She gasped when he trailed his tongue lightly against her bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to tangle their tongues. She scrambled into his lap, her fingers raking through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. He groaned at the sensation, his body arching up into hers on instinct. 

The cot creaked ominously beneath them when she shifted, and they broke apart with reluctance. They laughed breathlessly, and she pushed herself off of him with care. He stood and they looked down at her cot. It still stood, but looked a little lower to the ground than it had before. 

"It seems they're not meant to bear the weight of two people," he said. 

"So it would seem."

She tugged at his hand and eased herself down onto the straw covered ground. He followed suit and smiled as she curled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. 

"Mitya?" 

"Yes?"

"I adore you too. I hope you know that."

He did. It was obvious in the way she had kissed him. Still, he smiled and draped his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

"I do."

They fell into silence then, each contemplating the way things had changed between them. Dimitri took her hand and stroked her knuckles with his thumb, hopeful about the future for the first time in a long while. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica finds it difficult to enjoy the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is from a time when Veronica had a different backstory and wasn't as intimately acquainted with Dimitri as she will be by this time. I'm still planning something for this part of the story, but this draft is a cast off. 
> 
> Feel free to tell me how you like it.

She felt stupid standing there in a gown, her hair styled and face painted. What point was there in trying to look like something she wasn’t? She was fooling no one; they all had eyes, after all. She stood close to the wall, her hands hidden in the folds of her skirt. She felt strange without her gloves; the brush of fabric against her skin made her want to retch, but she clamped her jaw against the burning in her throat. It wouldn’t do for her to ruin the gown her uncle had so thoughtfully sent, even if she felt like a fool in it.

“Veronica?” Her gaze snapped towards the young man that had spoken, taking in his tidy blonde hair and well fitted formal wear. Dimitri looked good tonight, it seemed he was having a decent time. It made her feel worse for being there. Her presence could only ever darken a day.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing?” She asked, jutting her chin in the direction of the dance floor. She’d seen how girls looked at him. Some eyed him like a particularly juicy cut of meat; his station and the crest he bore made him an attractive marriage prospect, others swooned after him because he could be likened to the handsome knights in their romance novels. She hated them. They were vapid little fools that saw nothing but status or fantasy when they looked at him, but she would never stand between him and them. It wasn’t her place. If even one of them could make him happy, then she would learn to tolerate them. 

“You know I don’t particularly care for it.” His reply was simple and tinged with amusement. Of course she knew, but that was what this night was for, wasn’t it? It was meant to be fun. He was meant to smile and enjoy the company of his friends and peers. He shouldn’t be standing there, wasting his time talking with her. “What about you? Shouldn’t  _ you _ be dancing?” 

“No.” She shouldn’t even be here. She was ruining his night. She should slip away and change out of this ridiculous outfit. Stupid.  _ Stupid _ . They fell into a tense silence and Veronica shifted on the spot as she tried to ignore the shame burning away in her heart. Why did he ever talk to her? How was it that he still remained so patient, even as she shoved him away? Had he simply become numb to her snappishness after enduring it for so long?

“Would you like to borrow my gloves?” He asked, indicating the way she hid her hands from view. “I can’t believe Lord Emrys forgot to send you some.”

“They’d never fit.” She winced slightly as her voice cracked, a dull pain spreading through her throat in its wake. It hadn't been quite right since Remire. Too much smoke, Professor Manuela had said. Dimitri chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. She fought down the shiver that threatened to overtake her. She hated what he did to her.

“True enough, but at least you’d be more comfortable.” He held the fine, white cotton gloves out to her, his blue eyes full of warmth and compassion. 

“I’m  _ fine _ . I don’t need your gloves.” She gave him a hard stare, but Dimitri was unmoved by her rebuke. He was always unmoved. Dimitri was like a boulder in a river. She always had to go around him if she wanted to keep her course. Stubborn, foolish,  _ beautiful _ boy.

She watched in silence as he placed the gloves on the table nearby, his soft smile never slipping. She knew she could hurt him. She’d done it before, and she would do it again and again until he finally understood what she couldn’t bring herself to say. She would fight him tooth and nail until he finally gave up and hated her. It would be less painful to see disgust and apathy in his eyes than that sincere kindness, and maybe it would spare him the fate that had befallen so many she loved. He looked as though he wanted to speak, but he stopped as music swelled within the hall. He turned towards her, his gaze thoughtful. She knew what he wanted to ask, but she could see in his eyes that he knew what her answer would be. Part of her wanted to assure him that it wasn’t that she didn’t  _ want _ to dance with him, but she held her tongue. It was better to let him think as such. 

“Excuse me? Your Highness?” Veronica peered around Dimitri’s broad shoulders at the timid girl who had approached them. She was pretty. Vibrant. Warm. The lights played off her auburn hair and danced in her gray eyes. 

“Yes, My Lady?” Dimitri’s voice was smooth, his tone easy; but Veronica could hear the falseness in it. He was earnest, even when he lied. 

“I… was hoping to dance with you.” The girl’s voice was soft, her eyes full of hope. A dreamer, then. This girl wanted to experience a fairy tale, even if her prince knew only nightmares. She was a selfish fool. 

“You should go, Your Highness.” Veronica met his gaze evenly, her shoulders back, head held high. Dimitri met her challenge with a sigh and turned towards the girl with a smile. She had won this round, it seemed. 

“Of course. It would be my honor, My Lady.” 

Veronica watched as he took her hand and led her away, his bare fingers wrapped gently around his partner’s. What would that feel like? Were his fingers rough with callouses like hers? Would he hold her hand gently, or was he like everyone else; did he also think her indestructible because she didn’t acknowledge pain? 

Dimitri was graceful on his feet. He liked to pretend otherwise, but he’d always been more than capable of dancing. His partner seemed genuinely pleased there in his arms, content to be led around the floor by her handsome prince, who gazed adoringly down at her. It was easy to feel special when he looked like that. A pang in her chest had her fleeing the room as quickly as she could without attracting attention. She couldn’t stand to watch him any longer. She hated the girl in his arms, she hated the warmth he shared, she hated that she hated it. She had no right to feel this way, but she couldn’t deny the ache in her heart or the stinging in her eyes. It was just one more thing Dimitri had done to her.

She kept her head down as she moved away from the ballroom, her feet taking her in an unknown direction. She didn’t care where she ended up or what happened when she got there, she just needed to hide until the ache subsided. No one needed to see her crying. They didn’t need to know she ever felt pain, or sadness. It was best they thought her cold and numb. She had no life she could promise to anyone. She had every intention of removing herself from the world once her vengeance was complete. 

She hesitated as the sound of her heeled shoes rang hollow and was surprised to find herself on the dock. She shivered lightly as the wind blew across the surface of the lake, chilling it further. It would be easy to step off the edge and let the weight of her gown drag her under, the icy water would steal her breath and she would drown quickly. Such a thing, though… it was too selfish. Someone would find her there, and they would have to live with the image of her dead eyes boring into them. They would feel guilty. No one should feel guilty over her. 

She sat instead, peering down into the depths of the water. When she saw her reflection like this, she could almost like it. She could pretend that she was different, that she was prettier and happier than she was. She could pretend that she was kinder, warmer, and more worthy of care. The woman looking back at her from the surface of the lake was perhaps less afraid of kind blue eyes and quiet late night conversation. Maybe her family lived. Maybe that woman wasn’t a curse. She bit down on her lip as it threatened to quiver, and the taste of blood pulled her back from giving in to her tears. She couldn’t cry now. Especially not over a boy. It was pathetic.  _ She  _ was pathetic.  _ Stupid girl. _

***

She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, but as she began to hear voices, she knew that the ball was over. People were headed back towards the dormitories now, laughing and talking loudly among each other. Her peers had enjoyed themselves, and she was glad. It was good that she had left. 

“So this is where you’d gotten off to.” She jumped and whipped her head around as she heard Dimitri’s voice from behind her. When had he ever managed to sneak up on her? Was she losing her edge, or had he simply learned to walk as a thief? 

“Did you… have fun?” She asked, shifting her attention back to the moonlit lake.

“Not particularly. There was a girl I wanted to dance with, but she disappeared before I got the chance,” he said. Why did he always have to say such things? 

“Sylvain’s drivel doesn’t suit you.” She didn’t look as she heard him shift behind her, and nearly flung herself into the water as she felt him settle his coat around her shoulders. He was being awfully bold. 

“Sylvain? Heavens you know as well as I do that he’d have laid it on much thicker, Ronnie.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and it made the corners of her lips quirk up in response. He was right. Sylvain was incorrigible. 

“You should go to bed. It’s late.”

“It is. You should come with me. It’s cold, your throat is going to be sore tomorrow.” 

“My throat is none of your concern.” He was right and she hated it.

“As your house leader and future King, I’m afraid I must disagree,” he teased. She would have shouted at him three years ago, but she’d learned that it would do nothing to discourage him. 

“I’m not ready to head back.”

“Then I’ll stay here until you are.” He was so stubborn. She didn’t understand why he refused to act logically. They once again lapsed into silence and Veronica found herself unable to keep her eyes off him as he moved to stand beside her. He looked particularly handsome under the moonlight; it made the blue of his eyes seem brighter somehow, though she would never tell him so. “Veronica?” He sounded so unsure.

“What?”

“Would you… dance with me?” She was quiet as she mulled it over. It wasn’t that she hated dancing. She’d liked it once, when she was a little girl. She'd stood on her father's feet and they'd swept around the room, laughing. She looked at his outstretched hand, chewing her lip. He hadn’t collected his gloves, it seemed. She wore none herself. The cloying feeling of skin against skin would probably be too much, and yet… she didn’t want to say no. 

“There’s no music.”

“That’s okay. We don’t really need it, do we?” She huffed at his insistence, but hauled herself to her feet all the same, brushing past him to leave the edge of the dock.

“Are you coming?” She asked, stopping on the cobblestone path just beyond the dock. Dimitri joined her in a few short strides, thanks to his long legs. She peered into his face before slipping her arms through the sleeves of his jacket. It smelled of him—like cedar and leather—but most importantly, the sleeves hung down over her hands. They weren’t gloves, but they would help. “One dance. Then we go to bed.” He looked far more pleased than she would have expected. His smile made her chest feel light and her cheeks feel warm. How was she supposed to feign indifference when he looked so happy?

“Wonderful! You do me a great honor, My Lady.” His smile only grew wider as he took her right hand in his, his touch so mindful that it made her heart ache. She had seen him break so many things stronger than the bones in her ruin of a hand, and yet he was being so careful. She tensed as his other hand found its way onto her back, and was almost disappointed that her gown and corset kept her from feeling its warmth. Her free hand rested cautiously on his shoulder and she allowed him to lead her through the steps they were both familiar with. She watched his face as they danced, trying to read his thoughts. Why had he wanted to do this so badly if he didn’t enjoy dancing? “May I ask you something?” 

“If you must.” She felt wary. Something in his tone set her on edge. 

“Why do you hate being complimented so much? I’ve always wondered,” he murmured, pulling her closer as he continued to lead her in a songless waltz. 

“Because it’s a lie.” It could only ever be a lie. There was nothing she could do that would be worthy of praise, and she was not a fool. She had been called ‘unsettling’ enough to know how people saw her. 

“Why would it be a lie to call you beautiful?” That word cut like a knife. She hated the way it sounded in his voice. She hated that she wanted to hear him say it again. She dug in her heels, bringing their dance to an abrupt halt, wrenching her hand free. She couldn’t bear it. 

“If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Ronnie…” He didn’t move, but she could see that he wanted to. Everything in her told her to run away, but her feet remained stubbornly rooted to the spot. She didn’t notice the tears until she tasted them, and she swiped furiously at them while Dimitri watched, shock clear on his features. 

“ _ Don’t look at me _ !” Her voice lacked any bite it might have had as it shook, her breath whistling in her throat. She would count it as a miracle if she could speak at all come morning. 

“I’m sorry… it’s just… even when we first met, I’ve never seen you cry.” He looked down at the stones beneath their feet, rolling a pebble under the toe of his boot, “That isn’t to say I’m  _ happy _ to see you cry, of course; but… it does almost feel like an honor.” 

Veronica scoffed and wiped away the tears before taking a steadying breath. Annette and Mercedes had worked so hard to make her look presentable and now she’d ruined it with needless tears. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe so, but… you never share your feelings. I feel I’ve gotten good at seeing them, but… well… I suppose it’s nice to truly  _ know _ .” 

“You’re so strange. I don’t understand why you waste your time trying to know me. It’s pointless.” He’d always been like that. He had friends and important things to do, and yet she’d find him sitting in her extra chair reading a book while she glared out the window in stubborn silence instead of doing what he should have been. 

“It’s not pointless to me. I don’t plan on stopping. I’ll keep working at it until I succeed… I… want nothing more than to see you smile,” he said. She huffed and crossed her arms as her cheeks flared, but even she could tell that her scowl lacked venom. How had he managed to weasel his way into her heart so thoroughly? She couldn’t stay angry or upset with him anymore; she couldn’t even find it in herself to be truly upset that he’d seen her do something as embarrassing as cry. Her nerves settled as the moments ticked by and finally she allowed her arms to drop to her sides, her gaze finding his again. 

“We should return to our rooms. Seteth would skin us if he found us here.” She took Dimitri’s offered arm without much thought and allowed him to lead the way. They arrived in front of her door far sooner than she’d expected, though she’d been too busy thinking about what a scene she’d made to keep her mind on the trip. Dimitri shook his head with a soft smile as she made to shrug out of his overcoat and she couldn’t help but cock her head in confusion. 

“It looks nice on you. I… rather like seeing you wear it.”

“I have enough of my own coats, though,” she said. She didn’t take it off. It was warm and it smelled divine. 

“Now you have another.” He extended his hand, a light blush creeping into his fair cheeks, “Your hand, please?” On instinct, she reached out with her right hand and flinched as his warm, smooth skin met hers. She watched in mute shock as Dimitri brought it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over her knuckles. “Sleep well. I look forward to seeing you in the morning.” He left her standing there, his scent clinging to the coat weighing on her shoulders and the warmth of his soft lips still searing across her skin. She didn’t manage to move until she heard his door down the hall close, perhaps a little harder than he’d intended if his muffled apology was anything to go by. She shook her head and let herself into her room, feeling strangely lightheaded and weak kneed. They’d crossed a line that night that they would never come back from, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be afraid. 


End file.
